Raindrops Can Even Penetrate a Stone --雨垂れ石をも穿つ--
by The Fairweather League
Summary: A series of multiple one-shots involving China and Japan: The moon and the stars; each corresponding with it's partner in total harmony…be it broken, wrong, or the only option for either one. Be it for love or hate. For in any outland, any theme, situation, or rotted bond, two brothers will find their way home together. Rating may change. Chuni/Nichu
1. 往情深

**Title: **往情深

**Genre:** A bit of fluff, a tad of romance; too many recollections and such. I guess it is a bit poetic and thoughtful at times.

**Pairing:** ChuNi/NiChu —China/Japan—

**Summary:** It had seemed an eternity to both China and Yao that their hatred, their loathing, had survived and stuck with Japan since the World Wars. Before China felt the sting of betrayal in his homeland, such a forged cut, as long as the scar on his back, seemed utterly impossible with, not only Japan, but with Kiku, too. He had been proven wrong, but a 4,000 year old being can always turn the tables to rectify any thought or statement. That was what he was here for in the first place, was it not?

**Sidenote: **At the start, there is some material on emotional rivalry between China and Japan. I do not intend to offend, just to portray some (not all) of the attitudes that a few people (might!) have against the Japanese acts in WW II …. Thank you~

**Current word count: **2,493

* * *

For a long time China hated Japan.

Not Yao, no, he did not think that the ability to hate another being such as Kiku was even an option; he had loved him too much for too long to ever truly despise the others existence forever, but it mattered not how he looked at his position or how much he tried to deny it: He did hate Japan. Very much so, actually.

There was always a violent, undeniable feeling of utter enmity that coursed and pumped through China's veins each time the very thought of Japan surfaced in his mind. Or whenever one of his women or men spoke out against the Japanese government; whenever yet another child of his country was taught to pass on the rotted feelings of hate and disgust and fear when hearing even the single word: Japan. Japanese. Black hair and eyes as dark as their decaying souls, their pale faces that looked like those of ghosts, narrow, sharp faces and chins...

And China could not and would not complain about the pure loathing centered around both his former brother's people and entire civilization; surely after the Japanese's horrid acts during the capture and invasion of China, of Nanking, too, they would naturally be no less than heartless monsters. There was certainly no individuality to any of them...they must all be horrid animals.

It was not a narrow-minded assumption of prejudice, China, or more accurately, some of China's people, tried to convince themselves, but it was a fact: Cold, hard, and true.

But then again...why? Why were his brother's citizens all so cruel and lacking in individuality? Surely it couldn't be true or right...to lodge every single member of a majority into one clustered clump. It must be wrong to assume such awful things of millions of people who were, most likely, mostly innocent in such crimes as those that took place inside China's battered red heart, Nanking. Such horrid things took place so long ago...

Both Yao and China were truly ancient bodies: they were two sides of a coin. At first glance they appeared in the form of two entirely different creations.

One was kind, passionate, and caring. He was selfless and yet not a saint; he was selfish as well, but not of sin or of the "Devil," as some might have put it. Self-righteousness was not in Yao's ways, but there would always be a sort of moral air to him. Whether or not it was viewed as the product of good or bad depended entirely on an observer.

The other was proud, independent, and seen as heartless; cruel, to everybody but his own people. China was fueled by this utter bull-headed determination to prove himself to his faith and the enemy: The rest of the world. He was stubborn and would seldom gain respect for outsiders of any given breed. There was a seed of mercy planted in China's heart, just the same as any human, mortal or not, but it had lain dormant and locked up for centuries. China had seen too much, and he knew too much of the true world to open himself up.

But really, whether they liked it or not, they were the same person. It mattered not how completely different they were from each other in personality; they were still, and would always be, another Oriental form of life that would never cease to exist in both spirit and mind.

There was both a light and a dark side to China, but those facets depended entirely on the Chinese people. Not Yao, and not the country China itself.

So when one day Kiku had come waltzing up to China (well, no, waltzing might not have been the best word for it; Kiku's gait was more like a clumsy stumble, which was odd for him, as he was normally such a composed person) and gave him what could be obviously seen as a full apology, Yao had been shocked. It had been so seemingly random, and he had lived for so long with the thought, the knowledge of The World Wars. And, of course, of the Japanese participation in it.

For more than 77 years both Japan and Kiku had denied that the invasion of China and the horrid massacres that had taken place inside of it had actually happened. Japan had not seemed to take any notice of the breakage that had occurred in China those long days and years and months, and neither had Kiku.

And yet there Kiku had been, the personification of the very people who made up his essence, those same people who had roots to the soldiers of olden, kneeling with his head bent to touch the floor and the nape of his neck very exposed, and crying the hardest that China had ever seen anyone, most of all him, cry, and trying profusely to atone for his army's actions and injustices.

He had asked Yao to do away with him if need be, to punish him, and him alone, if that meant withdrawing both their people's hostilities. He did not want to have to live with the awful guilt, the shame that his history brought upon him every second of every day. He wanted to be atoned, cleansed.

But most of all Kiku wanted Yao and China to forgive him.

At first, China had not said anything. He had said nothing and did not react to Japan's apology in any way. At this point Kiku was trembling.

Then, suddenly, unexpectedly, China had bent down to Japan's face and touched the others' shoulder, and once Kiku had looked upwards, Yao grabbed Kiku by his slim shoulders and bear-hugged him. China could feel the Japanese man shake madly in his grip; he could feel the shoulder of his shirt grow wet from Kiku's tears.

Yao had heard Japan cry out and lose his normally composed air entirely. Before either of them knew what exactly was happening, they were both clutching at each other and sobbing hysterically.

It was completely undignified and all too revealing, but neither could find it in themselves to truly care. There had to be mercy and forgiveness in even the darkest times, and if not, then there was no righteous goal to accomplish other than to gain humanity.

Their being reunited had brought no glorious change to their people's attitudes and opinions of each other. Nothing had changed between China and Japan.

But, nevertheless, despite the Chinese and Japanese's unwavering..._opinions _of each other, Yao and Kiku became brothers once more. They had even been happy for a while.

Of course it didn't last; Yao, like such a long time ago, found himself wishing that he could cut all emotional ties of him and Kiku being brothers. Only this time his ever-changing thoughts of the tiny island country did not evolve from hatred, but from something new-some odd, shifting, coiling emotion buried deep inside of him that had not seen the light of day for so long.

Ever since being reunited, Yao never once stopped loving Kiku, but his love for a brother changed form to turn into something just as pure and bright: Yao began to love Kiku as somebody who, if he was accepted, he could spend and share his life with, but not as a mere sibling.

And it took a while for Yao to realize and accept this - his feelings were not incestual, as he and Kiku were not related by blood, but, at first, his thoughts of Kiku felt wrong: The things that Yao started to notice about his former sibling were sinful, surely, but he simply could not help it.

How Kiku's narrow, almost delicate-looking face seemed to be perfectly symmetrical and stunningly beautiful. Or how everything he seemed to wear fit his slender body flawlessly; even the wrinkles and loose-fitting parts of his shirts and uniforms, something that would normally look awkward and strange on any normal person, seemed to bend to Kiku's very will and showed off the curves and edges of his chest and waist, making him seem effortlessly graceful.

_And his eyes; _Yao always thought about Kiku's eyes. They were unlike anything China had ever seen. A smoky-looking ebony, sometimes darkest black, other times a slightly light chocolate. But it was not really the color that really entranced Yao to the point of obsession, but ... the look that Japan always held in his large, almond-shaped eyes. Like he wasn't really there at all, but was in his own little world; like an eternal being could truly be at peace.

Yao had held desperately onto those minute details, how seemingly unimportant they really were, though he tried to convince himself otherwise.

It had taken him a while, but after some time of having to go day by day sitting and talking with Kiku (their bosses still hated each other with the passion of a thousand fiery suns, but even they wanted the two to resolve their quarrel of over 50 years), after Yao's heart (and his queasy stomach) felt like it would just plop out of him, he had confessed.

Of course, Japan had been purely and utterly shocked, and he was as red as anyone would ever see him for quite some time. Kiku had just stood there, playing with his nimble hands and carefully avoiding China's hopeful eyes. It was in those few drawn out moments that Yao really started to worry about rejection; the very thought made him wilt.

He had come too far along this winding, eternal road of immortality to be simply rebuffed.

But instead of walking away, or saying no, or even hitting him, Kiku shuffled shyly, adorably, to stand in front of Yao, and then put his head on China's chest, his thin arms hesitantly moving to wrap around China's middle in a coy hug.

It was now China's turn to be shocked; that wasn't the reaction he had been expecting, nor the reply he had planned so carefully for. But he wasn't complaining; if anything Kiku's return filled him with a sense of warmth and even triumph, not dread.

Yao very willingly moved his arms to wrap around Kiku's waist, and he pulled the smaller island country into a hug that might have been just a bit too enthusiastic, as Japan was gasping slightly and massaging his ribs after they broke apart, but he nevertheless looked happy. Kiku smiled at Yao, something the normally modest country never really did, and Yao could have sworn that his heart melted right on the spot.

And then they were dating. Well, they were sort of a couple. A very trusted few countries had been informed of the relationship almost immediately after it had started. China told other people, anyway, since Japan was a bit quiet about the whole thing.

But some of the nations discovered through pure, stupid accidents.

Russia, for one, who had walked in on a very heated snogging session in China's home. Neither Japan nor China had even heard the gargantuan Russian actually open the door, or the windows, or come through the closed off back porch; it was still a mystery to the two of them how he had even managed to get into the locked house. There they were, alone one second, and then the next Russia was just standing there with a pleasant, child-like smile on his round face and one hand on both China and Japan's shoulders. Like a ghost. A very white, solid, huge ghost.

And then there had been a very unfortunate incident with Taiwan... Japan, who was quite talented at sensing the mode and reading people's thoughts, had known for an eternity what she felt for him. He had assessed the situation as nothing more than a minor crush, one that a schoolgirl might have adopted after falling in love with the idea of love, but he was still nevertheless worried about what consequences both he and China might have to endure when the Taiwanese girl found them out, for she surely would, at one point.

And she did, one day when America (China was sure to clobber him that day) let slip a little secret between certain Asian countries. Taiwan had bided her time, something that later on Japan had been mildly surprised by, as teenage girls who caught "their man" with another person were usually the victims of impatientness and hostility and were temporarily unable to think clearly, and waited until she was sure that she would catch the two Eastern countries together, though there was still a part of her that desperately hoped that it was only America being an idiot again.

But she was wrong. Taiwan had caught Japan leaning on China's shoulder, and China's hand around the island country's waist. She had immediately burst into ever-flowing tears, and without giving either of the two stunned nations a chance to explain themselves, she had gone on pointing at Japan and crying that she thought that _he _loved _her_, and that she, Taiwan, had always thought better of Kiku. Not Japan, again, but Kiku. Taiwan ran off, stumbling and sobbing hysterically, into the night, leaving a startled pair in her wake.

It had been difficult to imagine that such a huge event could ever really fully heal the bonds between Yao and Kiku, China and Japan. Although it was true that the latter pair had not, and still was not, fixed in their relations.

But Yao could deal with that, with both his country and Kiku's. He could separate his emotions from his definitions, his, or his people's, beliefs. The ones that even he was not entirely sure were really his own.

_Because on nights such as these,_ Yao thought to himself, sparing what was intended to be a small, quick glance toward the other black-haired country, so small in dreams, sleeping, _why even bother to think? Why really bother with anything, so painful, as the past?_

Yao received no answer to his question, and he was glad for it. He needed no reassurance of what he was _supposed_ to feel, what he was _supposed_ to think.

In this time, in this moment, the past, the present, or even the forever cryptic future, all Yao felt that he really needed was to have the privilege to stare into Kiku's eyes, his face, and have the Japanese stare back, smiling his beautiful smile, and maybe even laughing. All Yao really wanted, or what he seemed to want, was to cup Kiku's face in his hands and run his fingers through Kiku's impossibly soft, straight black hair; to kiss him and feel the warmth that would spread through his fingers and body and mouth; to know that the plushness of pink roses that danced on his mouth, eager and loving, were strong, just as his own previously pent up emotions had been.

All he really needed, was that one person, dear, to love.


	2. Tomorrow

**Tomorrow**

**Title**: Tomorrow

**Genre**: Family, drama, tragedy

**Pairings**: ChuNi

**Rating**: K (?) / Swearing

**Summary**: In the after events of the Opium Wars involving China and Great Britain, China suffers through the loss of Hong Kong. Japan, fearing for his mentor's mental health, decides to visit him, comfort him, if necessary, one blue day.

**Word count**: 2,814

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_By tomorrow I'll be left in the darkness,_

_Amongst your cold sheets._

_And your shoes will be gone,_

_And your body warmth no longer beside me._

_But don't bring tomorrow_

'_Cause I already know_

_I'll lose you_

Lyrics from Daughter's_ Tomorrow_

* * *

He could hear them, he could see, somehow even touch their cries, and it hurt. The pain was too much, and in such large quantities; hurling itself at his body without mercy or any sort of identifiable logic. It was bestial. It was uncaring, unforgiving. There was treachery in the non-existent movements, entirely undetectable unless you knew exactly where to look, and unless you were expecting it.

Someday. It was bound to happen someday.

Only China had hoped that it never would. He may have been an immortal, but a great many years of experience and knowledge did not keep him from being inherently naive.

It wasn't exactly Great Britain, England, that he feared, but the entirety of the West itself. Their Navy, their technology, gadgets and gizmos and so much else that China had never seen, never even _imagined_was possible to exist in anything other than fairy tales, feared him greatly, though he would never have admitted it to himself or, especially, his people. Such facts that maybe, just maybe, there could be other threats to the country of China and his and his peoples' very way of living, was heart-wrenching.

Many years ago before China had even a sliver of knowledge of other men and women so unlike his own, and the only thing he knew was that they were different, Yao had made an unspoken conclusion: there were other countries from Asia, his home. There were other people, other ways of living, alternatives, and other discoveries to be made. There were also threats.

_They_ were not near as human as his own origins were. They had unnaturally white skin, so pink and flabby. Even the women could not appear _normal_or slightly pretty, as all girls should be. And the men were worse, very much so. At least the women were incapable of war. But the men...

All of the Western men China had seen looked exactly the same. The only thing that set them apart was the color of their hair, maybe the eyes at certain times. Or maybe size and figure, though those particular features were not exceedingly varied. Their eyes were so shiny and round, like multi-colored berries. Each horse laugh they forced from their disgusting red mouths was fake, and their eyes crinkled weirdly whenever it happened.

It disgusted Yao, and all of his people, too. Surely such horrid creatures could never amount to anything against the East. Hong Kong, a small village with only a few huts, could have taken a whole Western country down in a weeks' time.

That was what China had thought before the Opium Wars, back in the times when he was all-powerful, and could not be taken down. He had held confidence in his ability, his private bet that even Hong Kong could have withstood any singular white man or country.

But Lei was gone now. The blonde man (though China detested calling him such a thing; a real man. How strange and absolutely _different_he was compared to the Chinese) with strangely green eyes that were almost luminescent, had taken him from China. In both spirit and body. Hong Kong was no longer held by Zhongguo. Little Lei was not to be found or seen by Yao's watchful eyes; eyes that had seen so much, both beautiful and dark things. Things that his newest child had not yet played witness to.

Lei was as different a child as Yao had ever raised, though he was, admittedly, very similar to a certain dark-haired child, (now a man, though China didn't like to think of him in that way) that had founded his own empire.

In some ways, the similarities that Yao found himself catching with Japan as he found with Hong Kong were so coincidental that they were almost scary. The clear, dark eyes that China could never find his way into, although Lei did occasionally expose himself, where as Japan _never_did that. Such straight hair, both cropped short, like the ones that you would find on a Western... but Japan's hair was raven, not dark brown like Lei's. How manners and policy seemed to be held in huge amounts of stock in favor of both countries. Odd, for supposedly unruly children.

And Lei, unlike Japan, had stayed with him everywhere. Kiku had not.

Not that China would complain; the small child's departure, if you could call it that, had upset him very much, but he expected no less from such an independent individual. And, anyway, he still had Mei (or as he liked to call her by her cute baby name, Xiao Mei-Mei), Lei, and at the very least Vietnam for company. Oh, and Yong Soo, as well. Though he was really more of a nuisance than a companion. Chung-he had not done well on taming him over the years, as China had originally expected of him.

Thinking of his family always made China reminiscent, and it hurt just as well as it made him smile. He hated thinking of such things, but only because the beauty that could be found deep within them was nonexistent now. It pained him, just like the agony and misery of defeat destroyed the pride of The Qing. For in the sorrow lay not as much as blood and tears, but a wound too deep to sew or heal.

Completely out of his will and out of his control, China felt a single thin tear trail down his face, which he furiously wiped away, his long black sleeve trailing his cheeks. His face was surprisingly clean for a country that had just faced war. But he felt dirty and unworthy in his defeat.

_Though, of course_, China would constantly tell himself, _admitting to defeat does not always mean giving it all up._

But Yao knew he was just kidding himself. War always left him in a confusing stage between fury and red pride, and sorrow. Even after a countless number of battles, neither China nor Yao had become accustomed to this. Pride always left him feeling both pathetic and worthy.

Just as these old realizations came to him, Yao succumbed into wet, hot, but entirely silent tears. He had learned to keep silent during his life. To ensure that, even if weakness did start to show, that he could conceal it as best as anyone, dead or alive, country or human, could ever accomplish.

His head always turned foggy when he cried, and it always became so much harder to think straight, if at all. Yao had never had a chance in his very long life to learn whether or not such an internal show of vulnerability was instinctual to all humans alike, or if it was just him. Personally, he was more inclined to think that there was at least one other who shared that particular trait with him. It just made sense.

Through his clouded, wrecked train of thought, his senses detected the knocking of what he safely assumed to be a fist on the mahogany of his sliding door. China said nothing, he barely even glanced upwards, but only willed for that door not to be opened.

But lately, luck had not been in favor of him.

The very first thing that China saw of Japan was his pale hands opening the door softly, so quiet that China didn't even hear the wood grind upon the hard ground. The first thing Japan saw of his former mentor were the wet tears rolling down his face.

Normally, in such an awkward situation, something that Japan was so unfamiliar with, Japan would have left the room, or pretended not to see the person in question; he would ignore them. But the only problem with that normally inconsequential decision was that China was not any normal human. He was a country, one who Japan had seen seldom ever cry. He was a country that was supposed to be strong.

Not looking China in the face (though the elder nation did see the Japanese's surprise), Japan soundlessly moved from the door frame, and, turning his back temporarily on the Chinese man, he shut the door gently. Then he turned to look forward at China (but still not in the eyes), and moved to sit in a chair that had been conveniently placed beside the crying China.

Yao's home had become very unorderly and unorganized just like his country during the Opium Wars, and the mess had still not been cleaned up. It looked like a tornado had hit the room, spiraling the floors and even walls with silky red and gold.

China was a country who believed in bare necessities for personal gain. The rest of his efforts were turned not towards decoration, but to his empire. So there was not much to be mussed with in his room. There was a moderately sized bed (but draped in soft-looking burgundy fabric), a small square table fashioned from a dark wood in the smack middle of the room, covered with yellowed paper that was sprawled with lines of calligraphy, and closets for storage in the left corners of his room. A small yellow lamp that drew light that always burned bright was placed on the ceiling. A green, healthy bamboo stalk sat solitarily beside the crimson bed.

But now there were papers strewn randomly around each and every corner of the man's room, so much so that almost every square inch was covered with writing so untidy that it was entirely unreadable. The normally luminescent lights that burned around his small room and made the place seem more welcoming were now unlit. Rotted leaves from the bamboo stalks in the pot were found at random on the bed and floor. Stains from food and ink could be found on China's desk drawers.

And, of course, there was China himself.

Japan had caught China on one of his good days. Most times now the ancient country was filled to the brim with Russian hard liquor (something that even Yao could not hold), and he was usually too out of his senses to do much more than grumble and roll around on the floor. Some days he couldn't even stand. Defeat of a great empire had truly brought China to his scraped knees.

But now Yao was in complete and total control of his senses. He was hard sober. And though he was indeed crying, showing what he liked to refer to as "weakness," he could have managed to walk on his own, which was progress.

"Japan," China croaked after a moment of awkward silence, moving to wipe his eyes again. "You're here."

Japan, at a loss for words, only nodded. "_Hai_. I am."

"Why? What did you want? Here to check on me, are you?"

The words came out bitter and chewed, and China glared at the ground, furious. Nervously, Japan shrugged, looking tense. His voice came out soothingly in his next words, though his eyes, skittish and like a scared deer's, wide and brown, did not fit his reassurances. He spoke slowly, carefully. As though he was walking on eggshells. "I suppose so ... I have heard things, China-san. None of them good. Many of your men that I have had the grace to speak with have informed me of your condition-"

"_Condition?"_China interrupted indignantly. His eyes narrowed, and Japan forced himself to look the elder straight in the eyes, though he was very obviously apprehensive. "What do you mean, _condition?_ There is nothing wrong. You only need to take away the war, the opium trade, all of that damned West (and make sure not to forget Britain), and of course, Lei ... Lei is gone!"

China moved to get out of his chair so fast that it squeaked upon the dozens of papers that it was sitting so delicately on, like a white, flat throne, and fell straight over, narrowly missing from coming into contact with the table that it was situated so close beside. Japan jumped from the noise, and he, too, moved from his seat (albeit calmer) and hesitantly moved towards China out of pure instinct that the long-haired man might tip over an invisible edge. He didn't show it, but seeing his normally cheery brother lose it like this scared him. China glared at the floor and dug his bare feet into the paper-covered floor.

_"That fucking England stole him!"_ China yelled, dark eyes wide and full of unblemished fury. "He took Lei! Lei is gone, and I can't even contact him! He's with England ... and who knows what'll happen to him! Really, I don't actually know where Lei even is, and I have no idea if I ever will!" China started tearing at his long hair (no longer in its usual ponytail), and, on human instinct, Japan rushed to pull the elder's hands away from his head, which was a difficult feat, as even through ravaged war, China was still stronger and bigger than Japan. China did not seem to notice his younger brother's futile attempts to calm him down.

"He's gone, he's gone..." China yowled, all the anger seeming to drain out of him in an instant, his features twisting from rage to grief. He stumbled drunkenly, the tears coming again, and Japan (with some amount of effort), half-caught him by his shoulders, and tried to hoist him back up to his feet. Instead, China's dead weight threw them both to the ground, sending calligraphy-stroked paper flying like a small, yellow and white storm around them, and before Japan could really comprehend what was happening, China had his face buried in the smaller island country's collar bone, sobbing uncontrollably. China wrapped his arms around Japan's middle and pulled him closer, like he was some sort of large stuffed teddy bear that could bring him comfort by just simply being there.

"He took him, Kiku ... That son of a whore took him ..."

Japan found himself running his fingers through China's tussled black hair as comfortingly as could be said for him, and his other hand and arm just wrapped around China's neck, holding on for dear life, though there was no way he could've fallen, what with how tightly China held onto him. Like he was another one of his students that would be snatched away from him at any given moment. Japan wanted to speak comforting words, but in this unexpected mess, he could find none.

China did not look up as he murmured, still crying and his voice muffled by the thick material in Japan's standard navy blue kimono, "And now the whole country is at stake; it's not just Lei. Mei-Mei and Yong Soo are here, too. They're here with the both of us! In our home! They aren't safe from the West, and you aren't, either. I'm not. None of us are."

In an act of apprehension, China moved his hands up to Japan's shoulders and gripped the sides of them so tightly that Japan had to bite his lip to keep himself from crying out. Yao looked up at Kiku with doleful black eyes, normally so bright. Japan found the bit of timidness that had sprouted within him since he had arranged to meet with China grow even larger.

"You understand what's happening, don't you, Kiku-di?" China said, eyes huge. Japan was absolutely terrified, but he could not find it in himself to look away. He was trapped by China's gaze, so weakened but steely and capturing. Yao laid his head back on Japan's chest. The Japanese was surprisingly warm through his kimono, and China closed his eyes before he spoke again.

"We're being westernized. I've heard the same happened to Native America. And Canada ... Lei is too young to understand, and Mei-Mei doesn't either, Yong Soo turned a blind eye to this all, but I think Chung-he understands. But I know you know, Kiku-di. What are we going to do?"

Again, China began to sob, and he shook while doing so. Japan's hands gripped the tops of China's shoulders, and he, too, found his eyes grow wet. But he did not cry. "I don't know, China-san."

China-san. Even now Japan could not find it in his custom to speak of the man in his arms as Yao-ge. He was just another country, not one who he could become too close with ... but of course, it was too late for that. China had raised and cared for him. They were connected.

China gulped and did not look up. He took a deep breath and said, "I don't know what to do. Lei is gone. Everything is in disarray.

"Promise you won't leave me, Kiku-di?"

To that, Japan had no real answer. He was not this man's kid brother, not anymore. But he could not find it in himself to answer no. So he took another route.

"_Hai_, Yao-ge."

* * *

Ugh. Why is everything that I always write in this pairing so depressing? It's impossible to actually post something light-hearted. Or funny. Or anything that isn't blue or black.

Oh well. I promise that, at least the next chapter, will be not so ... _*this.*_


	3. The Blue Gale (Part 1)

**Title: **The Blue Gale

**Rating:** K

**Pairings:** ChuNi

**Summary:** During a particularly violent, but short, storm in Tokyo, Japan sits with China, originally wishing for a peaceful day with his familiar other. But when the thunder hits, such wishes disappear. Hurt/comfort

**Word Count: **2,847

* * *

Tokyo was a predictable enough place. The people were kind enough, always happy to point a hopeless tourist or bystander in the right direction, though there were still, admittedly, some not-so-nice civilians. Every day and every night the moon or the sun would reflect on the great city's metal buildings, towers, really, and gleam like a beacon in the fresh air. The sun would rise in the east and set in the west, just as was normal to everywhere else. That was what the rest of the world thought and saw of Tokyo.

In actuality, though, it was quite the opposite: yes, it was true that the sun "set" in its former position at all times (as it should, even if the Sun of the Flag did not follow its daily customs), and nobody could deny that many of the Japanese there, or the whites or blacks or Mexicans, were usually exceedingly polite; Tokyo's gate was welcoming, high in the sky. It was beautiful, and it was new to all adventurous enough to enter in its towering doors.

But there was something different with the likes of the Japanese city. At a first glance, all seemed to be in line; normal. But, upon looking deeper into its very heart, there could be plainly seen a bud. Bright and shining in all of its original glory, like an invisible beacon of hope that spread throughout the very roots of Japan, nourishing and carefully growing its roots. Making it stronger.

Problem was, nobody really ever reached to it.

There were always times when someone _would _come so close to grasping the tips of the slowly sprouting seed in between their hopeful fingertips, Oda Nobunaga, Hideyo Noguchi, Murasaki shikibu, but they would always miss by just an inch. Sometimes, if they were extraordinarily talented and lucky, by even less than that. But such a thing seldom ever happened, and yet, even after thousands of years and countless generations, The Hopefuls had still not managed to touch the roots of their country. They all tried so hard and with such dignity, but, eventually, many had come to accept the fact that the likelihood of anyone ever fully and completely, with the utmost ingenuity in their hearts, changing that ever growing sapling into a full-fledged tree was slim to none.

As much as such a fact twinged at his heartstrings, the irrefutable piece of knowledge that pure and utter agreement and peace in any one person, let alone an entire civilization, was not going to happen, Japan never did give up his hope. At one point when he had come to realize the naivety of such a wish, his determination did not dwindle, as it might have done with most people.

No, it grew, and it, like his country's great, enter-twining roots, became only thicker and more nourished as time passed on.

Tirelessly, Japan worked to make himself, and his men and women, stronger. More adaptable to any circumstances. And when the western forces had come to his lands (at that time he had already fought a great many battles with his own kin, with the East), Japan had thought he was ready. He could fight back, he had heard of Europe's power, but he was stronger. His siblings were so sure of it, his people were so sure of it, and so was he.

They were mortal, and he was not. He had _Bushido _and the Great Gods on his side. Those pale men did not.

But unexpectedly, shockingly, Japan was actually _not _ready.

Japan, so confident in his abilities, had lost the first negotiations, the first battles, in both the literal sense and in exaggeration. But he followed along. Though he had been deeply against taking on the West's ways at first, he did eventually come to realize that such new practices might be beneficial to his own interests. And he was joined in his opinion by one side of his country. The other was not so cooperative.

His people did work hard yes … and there was such admirable discipline in their lives … but Japan was the one who placed and grew those roots. By himself, it seemed to him at times.

There were different ideals of what should be what; who should take up which destiny? Nobody knew, and nobody managed to resolve any quarrel permanently. But, if no human could make a difference beneficial …

_Then maybe he would be able to change things._

And change things Japan did. So much so, in his life, his personality, hell, even his very mindset, that in a mere few decades, he had changed to the point that he was beyond recognition. And not necessarily for the better, though some might have disagreed. But nobody could have stopped him … he couldn't stop himself…

"Kiku-di?" China said curiously, snapping Japan out of his thoughts. "Is there something wrong?"

Japan, his previously glazed eyes becoming clear and dark once more, smiled in what he hoped was a reassuringly way, and nodded. "Yes, Yao-san. I'm fine. Just thinking…"

"About what?" China asked. "You've always been a quiet child, but still, you're never really this reticent. You're not sick, aru? You don't feel warm or think you're running a fever?"

"Really, I'm fine." China was really a very sweet person, but Japan did have to admit, sometimes his protectiveness did greatly annoy him. And he internally cringed at being called a child, though that was how China had known and seen him for practically his whole life. Not that he would have ever said anything to his boyfriend; China might have been a four-thousand year old country, but he had not yet succeeded in building up a tough enough shell for even the slightest doubts. "I was just thinking … about the past."

Immediately, China's gentle smile that had covered his face before, slipped off of his face, and his already slightly worried eyes reflected fully in the rest of his kind expression. He pulled Japan closer to him by the waist, moving as close as was possible to the raven-haired man's radiant warmth, and looked the smaller nation straight in the eyes, intensity finding its way into his usually mild gaze.

"I already told you, Kiku-di," China started, his brows furrowing, and his feature slipped to turn perturbed, "that's all in the past. What's done is done. We're already back on good terms (heck, better than just good, _great _terms), and there's no reason to ruin it by bringing everything that's happened back up again." China hesitated, and then said, "And really … I don't blame you for anything, anyway. It was all relations, and not ours."

Japan, who had been slightly confused by this stream of consciousness, came to the hard realization of what China was blabbering about at a third of the way the older had been in his sentences. The thoughtful expression dissolved from his features just as quickly as China's had done, and his expression turned grim and uncomfortable, if just a tad still surprised.

Leaning into China's thicker frame, Japan looked upwards towards a still frowning China from the long-haired man's shoulder, and said, "No, Yao-gi, that's not what I meant. I just meant …" Japan struggled for a choice of words for a moment. "The past in general."

China did not turn pink or red, nor did he flush, as Japan might have done if he had made such a misunderstanding; he only nodded, and that smile reappeared on his face, if just a tad smaller.

China looked like he was going to say something, probably a lame joke, as that was something Yao just _did_, but before he could, a loud, first clap of thunder, huge enough to shake the entirety of Tokyo, flashed throughout the sky like a thin sliver of a snake, so fast that all you saw was a flash of bright light before it hit you. China turned his attention away from Japan for a moment to look out the window, to the sky.

But Japan, on the other hand, sucked in a large, deep breath of realization when he heard that mighty strike of light hit the Earth, for surely such a loud, deafening bang had seared half of the country. All the noise that usually wrecked through Tokyo seemed to drown, and all became horribly silent.

But, no, that was impossible. Japan would have felt the pain if lightning had caused disaster anywhere in his country. And he felt just fine. Except for the fact that he was suddenly scared out of his wits, and now all he wanted to do was curl up inside a deep hole far inside of the ground, away from the daunting sky, and with as any lights as possible shining all round him. So that he might be reminded of the sun, his savior.

Of course though, at the moment Japan was too petrified to have even a single coherent thought run through his head.

Lightning. Thunder. Lightning, Japan could handle. He could bear through it, but thunder … that was an entirely different ball game.

Not that he particularly liked lightning either; sometimes the blinding flash of pearl across his usually tranquil lands did frighten, or at the very least, surprise him, but only because it was so similar to the thunder. And it was the horrid, deathly noise that Japan despised so much.

Eyes wide, Japan grabbed at a teal, plush blanket that had been sitting neatly on the arm of the couch beforehand, and forcefully wrapped it around him so that he was enclosed in a sort of cocoon, making him seem even smaller than he actually was. He did it with such urgency that it was like he thought he had no time to waste.

He shoved his pale face into China's shoulder, burying it there and scooching himself as close as was possible towards his partner. China looked on at him in mildly stunned surprise. Rarely was Japan ever physically close, and even stranger was it for him to openly show what China assumed was _fear. _He never came to China for comfort over such tedious angst (though China would admit that he did sometimes wish that Japan did, he wanted his former brother and current lover to trust him), so he was utterly baffled as to why the dull-eyed country would start now.

Another exceedingly loud boom echoed dauntingly across the now barren landscape, and Japan jumped, almost falling from his seat as he did so, and yelped like a wounded animal. China saw his scared eyes flash from the window to the floor, like he was torn between a decision. Plops of rain began to fall.

_Boom. _Japan leapt from the couch with impossible speed, and raced over to the window, not hesitating before forcing the open curtains over the windowpane, now wet from hard-falling rain. Then he ran back to the couch and crashed into the cushions, half-landing on China's lap, and covering himself again with the blanket. China could feel him shivering. The room was now darkened, but a few hopeful strands of yellow light made its way to ignite China's face from a nearby lamp sitting on a small wooden table beside the couch.

Absolutely dumbfounded now, China put his hand gently on a quivering bulge that he assumed was Japan's head. He could see a bit of raven sticking out from under the covers. He pulled the blanket slowly to uncover Japan's head.

Japan did not look up, nor did he seem conscience to the blanket being pulled off of him. He kept one side of his face firmly into China's stomach, his hair, normally so straight and orderly, was now mussed with and not at all neat, and the light from the lamp made his hair shine like blackened fire.

"Kiku-di?" China murmured, trying to sound as comforting as possible. He was perfectly capable of dealing with kids, whether they were sad or crying … but he was awful at comforting adults. Even if it was somebody like Japan.

Japan didn't look up, but somehow China could tell that he was listening. "It's just lightning and thunder, aru. Nothing to worry about, really. It won't hurt you."

China waited a full 30 seconds before Japan replied. His voice was stuffy and thick. "I know."

Frowning, China said, "Then there's nothing wrong, aru. You weren't afraid of noise when you were little. Come on, Kiku-di. What's on your mind, aru?"

For a moment China was afraid of pushing Japan. He didn't want to do anything to put pressure on the Japanese, for their relationship was so fragile and alive only by a single thread, but he was also curious. And apprehensive. Japan always had a reason for fearing the things he did. He wasn't ever scared of something just because it was new or seemed "scary." There must have been double meaning behind his apprehension. That was how Kiku worked; full of twists, unpredictable and unreadable, but like a book that you could never put down. Fascinating in its own way, with glory, too.

"It's nothing," Japan squeaked as, in a sudden burst of courage, he threw the blanket off of himself, bounced from China's lap, and stumbled over the door sitting at the wall opposite. He didn't look back as he opened the door and said, "I'll be right back."

—

Of course, China had not let Japan get away that easily. It was not difficult to tell that Japan was all talk when he had said "I'll be right back."

Please. Yao knew him better than that. Once Japan was gone, he was _gone._

After the flustered Kiku had left in a flurry of flailing arms and legs, China was very soon to follow. It had taken maybe a minute or two to find Japan; he was hiding under the thick covers of their (_theirs_, it felt good for China to think that. This was _their _room) bed, and judging by the way the blankets were quivering, he assumed that Japan was, too. And it turned out that he was right.

China wasted no time in crawling into the bed with Japan (he didn't bother to even attempt to move the Japanese; Japan may have been light, practically weightless, really, but it seemed that whenever he became upset, gravity would increase by ten times, and he unmovable.), and pulled the other nation into such a tight hug that Kiku was forced to make himself smaller just to fit into China's bigger frame. China thought that the violent shudders were gone.

But he was wrong. As China started to run his fingers through Japan's hair again, the convulsions started, and this time, they didn't stop. It was almost like some sort of overly-controlled seizure, though of course there was absolutely no control at all as far as Kiku was concerned.

The two Asians stayed in that position for a while, one curled into the other, small and scared, and the other the big spoon, trying to provide a sort of fruitless comfort that could not be found. At least until the storm was over.

The thunder had become much less in such quantities after a while, but every time a bolt struck into the sky, Japan would shiver, and China would wrap himself just a little tighter to him.

And then, just like that, the fat raindrops pounding onto the walls and roof of their home, the thunder and lightning stopped. No unexpected flashes of blinding light, and no deafening bangs of thunder.

For a while, things were peaceful; perfect almost. Japan had stopped shaking, anyway. With little chinks in the armor of their sanctuary, the two lovers did still hear the beating of the rain, and though it was fairly noise and not at all what one would refer to as quiet, the rain's cries were not unwelcome or savage. The sound of pounding water was soft and harmonious, a heartbeat that, like everything else, stopped eventually, and though that rhythm may change or shift, it was usually intact. Soft; beating; alive.

Japan was gradually slipping in and out of consciousness as the minutes dragged on uneventfully (though the tranquility was not unwelcome), and at such signs of sleepiness (the heavy-looking eyes, deep, slow breathing, and occasional stretching), China decided to use Japan's weariness to his advantage. He did not try to go gently; he was outright and serious. Blunt, as usual.

"Why were so afraid of the storm, Kiku-di? It wouldn't have hurt you. There wasn't a threat … what was so wrong?" There was an emotion in China's voice that he hated to be in his presence, but it was there, anyway. It was something like desperation, but more demanding. It held power from an ancient kingdom that China both longed to remember and forget.

Japan only said one word in reply. It was sleepy and faint, and afterwards he fell asleep immediately, but that one statement kept China awake even after the blue rain stopped pouring.

"Bombs."

* * *

**It seems to have been a while since I've updated on _Your Majesty._**

**_...  
_**

***Whispers* I'm sorry. I know I should get on with that story, really, I do, but this new series is so much fun! And every time I try to work on the new chapter something goes wrong. Or there's a flaw in the characters. In that stories favor, I've been suffering a _huge _case of writers' block.  
**

**This will have to do for condolence, then. And by now I'm not even going to say that I'll start on the new chapter of _Your Majesty _right away, because that is a filthy lie. Ehh ... I'll do it sooner or later.**

**But, on a better note, there will be a second chapter to this one. As is stated by the "Part 1" in the chapter title. **

**Until then!**


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